Dead Rose Red

She asked me once if I would paint her.

She was so very beautiful and the first painting I finished was also beautiful. But it was not her, not completely, so I gave her roses instead.

She asked me a second time if I would paint her. This time too was imperfect. But she demanded that I paint her, roses proved nothing! So I painted her – again and again and again – but each time was wrong! I stared at her obsessively with an artist's eyes, let love move my brush, and after a hundred paintings and a thousand roses, I felt nothing.

She left me ruined with a room of roses, and it was in their wilting that I found the perfect colour for my love.

Dead rose red.